“My dear, don’t be a little goose. She’s ’verted to the faith that your mother was born into, after all, and it’s perfectly natural that she should take the whole thing very much to heart and prove a trifle exaltée about it all. It’s a most wholesome symptom, I assure you, and one I’ve been watching for. Presently there’ll be a reaction, and then she’ll settle down normally, I hope. But you’ll do her much more harm than good if you sit like a cat watching a mouse—waiting for every sign. It will only make her self-conscious.”
Under the flow of so much common sense, such sound, kindly advice, Rosamund had nothing to say. A creeping sensation of numbness invaded her mind. She ceased to feel acutely unhappy or apprehensive.
Mrs. Tregaskis, solid, competent, looking at her with rather puzzled eyes, seemed a sufficient bulwark against any such ephemeral fears as those which lay at Rosamund’s heart.
“My dear little girl,” said Bertha earnestly, “don’t go looking for trouble. I’ll give you a piece of advice which has helped me over some very rough bits of ground, rougher than any you’re ever likely to meet with, please God:
“‘Look up, and not down;
Look out, and not in;
Look forward, and not back,
Lend a hand.’
That’s pretty well coloured my whole life, Rosamund. I wasn’t as old as you are now when I first read those words, and I’ve never forgotten them.”
There was a moment’s silence, and Mrs. Tregaskis’ fine eyes grew for once introspective.